absolution
by iffiness
Summary: INFINITY WAR SPOILERS INSIDE. "Thanos. The name to all of his unnamed fears, everything that has ever haunted him in the night since the Battle of New York—the portal with its unending darkness, the bone deep chill permeating into his very soul, the veritable army on the other side just waiting for their chance at the weak, underdeveloped planet on the other side."


It wasn't supposed to turn out like this.

It wasn't supposed to turn out so _wrong_.

From the very second the weird, sparkling orange portal opened in front of his eyes in Central Park a set of events was pushed into motion that he could have never predicted. Him, the quintessential futurist, unable to see this eventuality.

No. That's wrong. He _did_ see this coming. He saw it _years ago_. He just… didn't want it to be like this. Anything but this.

Thanos. The name to all of his unnamed fears, everything that has ever haunted him in the night since the Battle of New York—the portal with its unending darkness, the bone deep chill permeating into his very soul, the veritable _army_ on the other side just waiting for their chance at the weak, underdeveloped planet on the other side. His name validified every single moment of sheer panic he'd underwent; it gave meaning to everything he'd created to help save them.

But it still didn't matter. They lost. He held the kid— _his kid_ , in all but blood—as he died. He watched the light fade out of eyes too pure, too _good_ , to have been fighting in such a bloody war. He crumbled to the ground with the ashes of innocence coating his palms, thick and sticky where it mixed with his own blood. They _lost_ , and because of them half of the universe _lost_. And Tony?

Tony felt lost, too.

The wizard had said he would _never_ choose either of them over the infinity stone, but when push came to shove, what did he do? He sacrificed _everything_ for _Tony_. It was so idiotic that, if Tony could still feel anything other than shock, he was sure he'd be screaming his anger into empty ruins of this planet he'd ended up on. As it was he just felt… empty. Like half of the universe died, and took something from him along with it.

Hell, maybe he was dead too, and he just hasn't realized it yet. Maybe when Thanos put his own blade through his lung Tony had actually died, and now he was just left to live in this nightmare world as his own version of hell. It would be fitting for this to be his hell. The Merchant of Death, surrounded by a universe littered with the ashes of billions. His punishment for the weapons he'd spent his life creating and the lives he'd had a hand in ending. Romanov loved to talk big game about the red in her ledger, and Tony'd let her do it, but when it came down to it? His ledger had sunk into the bottom of an endless pool of blood with all the people he'd killed. His soul had been dipped in a dark crimson for so long that he wasn't sure that he'd ever be able to be clean again. He deserved this hellscape. His own personal nightmare. But not at this cost. He could—and would—take this reality as his own penance if it only meant that Peter, that half of the damned universe, could continue to live on.

He startled out of his reverie at the feeling of fingers carding softly through his hair, another hand coming to rest gently on his cheek. Eyes he didn't remember closing opened, and saw at first cloth so black it seemed to swallow light around it. He followed the trail of fabric slowly up, until finally he came face to skeletal face. He wanted to jump, to pull back away from whatever _this_ was, but he couldn't move. He was trapped within her grasp, staring into the darkness of empty orbits as if two eyes stared back at him. It certainly felt like he was being stared at in return. He would have never thought a skull could stare into his soul so deeply, could see straight into his mind, but that's what it felt like was happening.

"You truly would, wouldn't you, my Merchant?"

Her words washed over him like the susurrus of the stream, gentle and loving, easing the burning and stinging of his wounds. Her words sang in a sweet alto that resonated with his soul, calming the raging, emotionless void at his center. Her words filled him to the brim with raw power, and invigorated his mind in the same breath. Her words lit fire to parts of him that had long since been nothing but darkness.

She spoke to the man whose body had been broken, and left him healed. She spoke to the man whose soul had been empty, and left him full. She spoke to the man whose mind had been shattered, and left him unbroken. She spoke to the man who had lost parts of himself to the void, and left him whole.

"You would take this reality as yours alone, if only to save those for which you care." There was a softness in her voice. Her words felt like the warmth of the sunset in spring, and the cold of the sunrise in the winter. It was everything, and nothing.

"I would," Tony answered, feeling overwhelmed and raw in ways he had never experienced before. But despite it all, it felt _right_. Because he would do that. He would take it all himself to save the universe. He would do it with a grin on his face if it meant Peter would be brought back to live out the rest of his life.

Bony fingers caressed his cheek as this being—Mistress Death, though how Tony knew that was beyond him—stared down at him, her fingers an oddly soothing mixture between soft and rough.

It felt like an eternity had passed before she bent toward him. Her hands tilted his head up as she leaned over him, a soft smile on her lips that Tony could only see in his mind's eye. "Fix this, my Merchant. Fix this, and I will ensure you are finally allowed to rest."

Her face turned to him and he felt a surprising set of silken lips where only teeth were seen press against his forehead.

And then the lips were gone.

Then replaced by everything.

Replaced by the feeling of pure, unfiltered _power_ surging around his aching body, wrapping around him in a cocoon of energy unlike anything he had ever felt before. It was blindingly bright even as he closed his eyes to it. It was thunderously loud like he was privy to a cacophony of everything happening at once. It was as hot as the sun and as cold as Siberia simultaneously.

He was helplessly falling through it all, with no hopes of catching himself. There were no anchors he could grasp to stop it all. He existed both with and apart from the power surging through his body. He could do nothing but let it take hold of him and bend him to its will. He let it do as it pleased until finally, blessedly, he felt nothing. There were no sounds, lights, or power coursing through him.

And then there was a roar.

He shook awake, blinking his eyes open as his heart beat haphazardly in his chest, his breathing out of control as he stared up at… at…

At the team.

At Captain America, freshly battle-worn and smiling at him in relief. At Thor, grinning with the adrenaline coursing through his veins. At the Hulk, huffing and snorting as he peered down at Tony.

And above them all he could see the sky where a portal had only just closed. He could see the damaged tower with its " _A"_ hanging on the side.

He was back where it all began. New York. Before everything began to shatter into broken pieces all around him. Before Thanos killed his kid and half the universe.

He had years before that would happen. Years to plan and work. Years in which he could, and would, fix it.


End file.
